Friday, November 17, 2017

Farts are funny

I went to the eye doctor last week. He was actually a plastic. Turns out we have the same undergraduate alma mater. Too bad he graduated three years after me. Baby. I had a sty, or so I thought, for about 4 weeks. The fucker showed up about a week before our cruise. I did the whole hot compress thing, and I thought that would be okay. Well, day 2 of the cruise I ended up going to the medical clinic. $188 later, the MD put me on some antibiotic which helped a bit.
And by day 4 of the cruise I was able to stop wearing my glasses, and started with my contacts. Good thing because I like sunglasses in sunny places. And it means I can people watch without people noticing. 

Anyway, while getting the appointment underway I was chatting things up with the nurse, or tech, or whatever her title was. She was fun. Her husband is a fireman. He works wonky hours, which means there are plenty of nights were she sleeps at home alone. We both live the life of husbands not being at home every night, so we were relating to one another. We were chuckling about the women who "can't sleep when their husbands is gone." Girl, I do that all the time. As a matter of fact, there are nights when I'm glad he isn't home so I can spread out and watch whatever tv I want. I have grown accustomed to needing my alone time during the week.

And then we got all mushy, and started talking about how their absence truly does make the heart grow fonder. We think it's a good thing to miss your husband. After they're gone, you appreciate their presence home. After they're gone, you find spark upon their return.


****

Raise your hand if you hate that damn lotion at Marriott hotels.

Steve crawled into bed on Friday and I was all, "what hotel did you stay at last night?"
"Need you ask?" he responded, knowing exactly where I was going with the question.
"MARRIOTT!"

I hate that lotion. Always have. Always will.


****

If you haven't read Welcome Home Honey do it. It's funny...and will ring true to pilot wives. Basically, it's all about when your pilot gets home from a trip. Sometimes life is good, and sometimes it sucks. Sometimes you want to jump on him the second he walks through the door, and sometimes you find him almost repulsive.

Steve got home from a trip late Friday night. That night was good. I was expecting crabby, since he flew 4 legs that day. He came home to a quiet house with a fire in the fireplace, a warm dinner, and wine. Saturday, however, wasn't so good. As a matter of fact, it sucked.

I need to state one fact, I was moody. Like really moody. That was truly the root of the problem. Stating that, the morning went to shit around 9am when I recalled that I needed to print out something from the internet. This recollection happened about 2 seconds after Steve shut down the internet (he was moving some things around.)

While Steve and I were "discussing" the internet situation with somewhat raised voices...because of course I was blaming him, and of course he was telling me that I should have remembered before he shut things down, and of course I got more pissy because I can't remember everything.all.the.time and heaven help me the one time I forget something...Cici was chanting, "divorce! Divorce!" I was quick to reminder her that just because there is a disagreement, that doesn't mean one goes for divorce.

The day went to shit from there. Anything from realizing that I had forgotten my wallet while in the parking lot at Target, to the epic fit that Cici threw which cause me to yell at her in such an epic way that it actually made her jump. Not proud of that moment. 

I started to mellow out, thankfully, by Saturday night. The kids had a performance for Polish School, so while they were on stage I drowned everything in three bottles of good Polish beer.

The day wore me out so much that I went to bed the instant we got home. Steve, on the other hand, was starting a fire and pouring a glass a wine. We typically hang together in the evenings, and go to bed together. But not that night. I needed my sleep. And by Sunday morning, I was less "tense" (as Steve had called me).

It's never good to start your pilot's time home with a chip on your shoulder. It just makes the house tense. But, sometimes it just happens.


****


While in church on Sunday morning, Steve's dad called. Obviously Steve didn't answer the call, but he did check the voicemail when we were in the car.

90% of the time you call him, it goes to voicemail. 

Steve's dad left that voicemail...unintentionally. After his comment you could hear some sort of rustling around, and then the called ended. You could tell he was annoyed. But, the fact of the matter is that if you are calling a pilot, it's likely you will get his voicemail.

Steve flies, say, 80 hours a month. There is a good chance those hours are during the day, and not red-eyes. It goes without saying that when Steve is in the air, his phone is in airplane mode. In addition, Steve isn't likely to answer his phone when he is preparing for a flight, which is a good 30+ minutes before. And, he isn't one to talk much while in the crew bus or hotel shuttle bus. And then when he gets to the hotel, he is likely to work out. He doesn't take calls when working out.

And then when he is home he may be mowing the grass, or doing a house project. Or perhaps we are having dinner, or he is playing a game with the kids. These are all times when he is likely to not answer a call because he is in the middle of something, or wants to spend time with family.

See how all this time adds up? Call it occupational hazard.


****


Steve's birthday was this past week. He was working, so we celebrated the day before he left. Dinner, then cake. I have to post this series of pictures, because they are too funny. Steve and the kids were posing for a picture, and Cici farted. I hate the fact that I'm married to a man that finds farts funny...and Cici earns it honestly, so I can't blame her for that.

While deplaning, Steve once farted in the cockpit and the fumes were so bad that when the flight attendant came to open the door Steve directed her to keep it closed. I think the story continues with the FO putting on the oxygen mask to save himself.
smile, someone just farted and is laughing about it

the "scent" hits Steve at this exact moment


This is my life...





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